


When Stars Align

by askynote



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askynote/pseuds/askynote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wirt is four when he wakes up covered in colorful rainbows and flowers.<br/>Dipper figures it out on his own after he got scrapes which weren't caused by him.<br/>But it's not until they are six when they finally get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Stars Align

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for months, and that sometimes it's not a good idea because I get insecure along the way. But here, take my humble cake anyway.

Everyone has scratches. Sometimes you notice how you got them, sometimes you don’t. It happens. You don’t give them more than a second look. Especially if you’re kid who's constantly stumbling with your own feet.

Wirt is four when he wakes up covered in colorful rainbows and flowers. That’s something _hard_ to get unnoticed. They are not ugly, they're actually really pretty, but he doesn't know where they come from and that’s a little disturbing.

He runs to the bathroom and rubs his entire face with warm water and lots of soup, he scrubs again and again but doesn’t get off.

The confusion turns into desperation. There are tears forming in the corner of his eyes already and he wipes them away as soon as they touch his cheeks. He’s a big boy, it’s not healthy to cry all the time, he recalls his dad’s words. Mom tells him otherwise but he rarely does something her mom doesn’t approve of, and Wirt wants to please his dad even if he’s not there to see.

He chooses to scream instead.

Frantic footsteps can be heard from downstairs and at the drop of a hat, his mom is opening the bathroom’s door, her breathing heavy. “Honey, what’s - _oh_.”

“Mommy,” he whimpers, getting down off the box he uses to see himself in the mirror until he's tall enough to reach it and clings to his mother’s leg. “I can’t get it off. Why I can’t get it off? What’s goin’ on?”

Her mom blinks, putting an arm around his shoulders. She cups his chin to take a better look at his troubled son. And then she laughs.

Wirt scowls. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong and just knows that this situation is anything but funny. Her mom catches this and does her best to calm her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand until she’s able to breathe properly again.

“I’m sorry, baby. It just that I’ve never seen someone with that kind of mark. Or would I say, ability? I don’t even know how to call it.” She kneels down, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her smile is calm and gentle. It’s all Wirt needs to appease the nervousness and collect himself once again. “You remember the mark I have on my shoulder, right?”

Wirt nods eagerly.

“Well, it’s like a sign that tells you that somewhere around the world, there’s someone destined to be at your side. A soulmate.” She brushes the hair covering his eyes. He’s getting a haircut tomorrow. “But there are different ways and signals to find them. Let’s just say that these -” She pokes his cheeks and he cannot help but giggle “- are there because your special little person draw them on their skin. It’s your own way to recognize them when you’re older.”

“And yours?” Wirt asks, tilting his head.

“It’s the name of my soulmate, written in their handwriting.”

“Daddy’s name?”

“Yeah your father’s name.”

“Are all parents soulmates?”

“Not always. Not because you're paired with someone means you have to stay with them. And a lot of people fall in love, even if they know they are not the other’s soulmates.” Her mom kisses the frown on his forehead as he tries to digest the words. “I'll explain it again as you grow up, but for now, think about it like… There's a person among all the millions of people in the world, that one day could make you really, really happy if you work hard for it.”

“But what makes them different from anyone else?”

“That's a good question. Let's say...they are the ones who could understand you the best and you can understand them back. You complement each other and form a very special bond.” Her mom tugs one of her hair locks with her pinky. Now she's frowning too. “But I don’t want you to think you’ll be unhappy if you don’t find. They just make everything more... _vivid._ ” Her eyes turn dreamy, just for a second, before snapping back into reality. “Of course, there are exceptions because, in the end, it's always your own choice.”

Wirt realizes it must be a really complicated concept if his mom is using too many words to describe a single one. Maybe that's what a soulmate is, something hard to understand but if everyone is so eager to find it, it should also be something great.

* * *

Dipper gets curious. It's a flaw, some say to him. It’s a strength, others assure. His parents like to reprimand him, tell him that it'll only bring him all sort of troubles, that he is going to put himself in danger someday. He neither cares nor listens, with all honesty. Dipper is simply a kid, delighted to uncover everything the world has to offer, so he ignores all the voices as much as he can. Except his twin’s. It's difficult to not pay attention to her.

That’s why it’s not a surprise he ends up sitting on the floor, back facing his bed, pen in hand. He can hear Mabel’s soft snores from the top bunk. He's still a little bitter about the fact she gets to stay with that one.

There's no light, so he can barely see. The last time he had their lamp on late at night, Dipper had been reading. His parents shouted at him to go to sleep and when he didn't, his father snatched the book from his hands. He has learned to be sneaky now, but it's a work in progress. He always forgets to bring a flashlight to the room.

He uncaps the pen and thinks what to write.

He put the pieces together when he suddenly got taints of marker just by watching TV. He paid attention at the scrapes which weren’t created by him but still got imprinted on his arms, hands, and knees. His parents finished to confirm his suspicion, not too thrilled with the idea - their son has always been prone to accidents, they didn't need to multiply that rate by two - , but the whole concept is fuzzy for him, a mystery his mom assures him he will uncover as the years goes by.

_Hi?_

He doesn’t expect a reply soon and he doesn't get one. He pulls out his crayons and a white sheet, deciding to spend the time drawing while waiting. He's too interested to get some sleep, and he doesn't want to keep them waiting when they write back.

He is halfway on the coloring of his blue dinosaur as he catches a glimpse of a red streak. The six-years-old boy’s eyes widen as letter by letter a message appears.

_Hello._

He bubbles with excitement as he lies on his stomach, tracing the ink of his forearm with his small fingers.

 _Wow this is weird_ is the only coherent thing it occurs him to write.

This time, it doesn’t take long to get a simple reply, _Yeah._

Dipper can stop the conversation, avoid the awkward moment and move on, but he doesn’t, he’s determined to keep the talk going.

_Dipper._

_Huh?_

_My name. Is Dipper._

_Oh. Nice. I’m Wirt._

He glances back at his twin’s sleeping form, makes sure there’s no noise in the hallway before he starts scribbling any sort of question his mind can come up. His age, what does he like to do, favorite color. They are stuck with each other whether they want to or not, it’s only polite to get to know the other.

Wirt asks him back, Dipper answers happily. It reminds him of meeting a new kid on the first day of school, a little unsure and scared of not knowing if they're going to be liked or not.

Sometime in the night, as their arms are left with less and less space, Wirt tells him he should go to sleep, they can talk again tomorrow, and those are the magic words he needs to return to his bed and allow his eyes to drift closed.

Dipper makes sure to always carry a marker and a pack of wet wipes since then.

* * *

Wirt slams the door and covers his ears with the pillow, even though there’s no other sound than the wind howling on his window. Winter is getting near, he can already feel the cold rasping his rosy cheeks and every other part of his body that’s not covered in clothes. It has been his favorite season as long as he can remember. There are Christmas, food, gifts, and the happy ambiance surrounding the holidays. Too bad everything is going to be ruined.

He didn't mean to get fussy. Wirt doesn't want to be the obstacle between his mom and her happiness. He wants to get back to normal, he's tired of changes, and a baby is not going to help him at all. They cry and scream, that's what all the classmates who are big siblings told him so. It makes Wirt want to search for a baby-devolution center or create one if necessary.

But his mom is excited, and Wirt is not bad enough to take that from her. He’s not being fair. Since his father is no longer with them, the dark circles under her eyes have become more prominent. She deserves better than him.

Maybe that’s why she wants another child. She already replaced Wirt’s dad, maybe she is thinking it’s his turn now.

Wirt doesn’t express that to Dipper at night. Not entirely, because he doesn’t really understand all the emotions and thoughts running through his mind.

 _Having a brother or sister is not that bad_ , he assures him _. I love my sister._

 _But we don’t have the same dad_ , Wirt answers back. Besides, Dipper and Mabel are twins, have always been together, for each other. They are equals. Wirt, however, is going to be the oldest brother. The responsible one. It makes him nauseous. He can’t even take care of himself.

And it’s more likely that the baby will hate him. He’ll become the ugly duckling of his family, but he won’t grow up to be a beautiful swan or find others swans like him. He’ll stay miserable and alone forever.

 _So? There’s this girl in my class that her parents are not her real parents and she’s happy_ , Dipper insists.

Wirt shakes his head. His mom and step-father are going to look back at him and they’ll realize he doesn’t belong with them. If it was easy for his dad, then why it would be harder for them? To drop him anywhere, to forget about him.

 _But I’m not. I don’t want a brother or another dad._ The words are jotted down harshly as if he was screaming them, and when Dipper doesn’t respond right away he gets worried, thinking he made him angry. So he writes _Sorry, I was rude_ and holds back tears. He needs someone to vent, he needs someone who cares.

 _No you were not. I dropped my bottle of water and had to clean the table._ Wirt sighs of relief. He has to learn to stop making presumptions. _But I get it,_ Dipper continues.

They don’t say much then, too busy cleaning the previous messages so they don’t end up looking tattooed on black marker like the first time they decided to talk to each other.

The silence doesn’t help to lessen the lump in his throat, and with their skins clean once again, Wirt doesn’t have an idea of why or how he snaps, but _I want my dad_ it’s on his wrist, letters wobbly as he chokes a sob.

_Did you tell your mom?_

Wirt tries to be as quiet as possible. The walls are pretty thin, and he fears if he cries too loudly somebody could listen, though his heavy chest makes it impossible for him. It’s hard to breathe without breaking down.

_No, I think she’s mad at me._

Dipper’s response appears fast, _Are you grounded?_

_No._

_Then she’s not._

She stared at Wirt shocked, disappointed. She desperately tried to reach his arm but Wirt withdrew and ran. He can't recall the last time she was angry. At him, at least. He can remember her reddened face, cold and sharp voice when she fought with dad. But she's not the kind of people who scream in fury. Has she ever really gotten angry at him?

 _Then she’s sad_. That’s his conclusion.

 _Make her a pretty a gift so she smiles,_ Dipper counters, not willing to lose the argument.

There's a photo of a family of three on his nightstand. It used to be simpler, it used to be okay. Why can he go back to be two years old, three, or four? Why can they turn back in time?

 _But I’m mad at her,_ he finally admits, wiping his tears even as they keep falling slower than before, _I feel bad._

_If adults get mad at us and act like nothing that means we can be mad at them too._

Scrunching his nose as he sniffs, he offers a reluctant, _Yeah?_

_Yep, Wirty Wirt. It’s okay to not be smiley at all times because if you don’t cry then you turn into a bomb, my mom says so._

The snicker coming out of Wirt’s mouth is loud. It’s watery and shaky, but it’s a laugh nevertheless and that’s all that matters.

_You cannot be bomb Dipper._

_Yes you can_ , he protests, _and you explode._

Wirt snorts and beams, suddenly feeling extremely lucky.

* * *

His eyes are irritated as he rubs them. He wants to stop crying but he can't, the little sobs making the kid’s body shake. Everything hurts, his cheeks feel sore. He doesn’t know how bad his aspect is, he ran without even peering at the mirror. Right now, he’s hiding in the restroom stall, hugging his knees, waiting for the ring to bell so he can finally go home.

Mabel is sick, she had to stay at home today, and besides Dipper can’t always depend on her. Normally, she isn't present at the moment he’s being beaten up, but she always sits at his side in the aftermath, trying to make him smile again. And he does, for her, even if he’s feeling awful inside.

He’s not telling anyone this time though, teachers, his parents - the excuse for his bruises already formulating on his head. He’s not a tattletale, he is going to learn to be brave and endure every punch, every hit. He's not sure he wants to tell his sister either. She will most likely tell their mom or dad, and he truly doesn't want another meeting with the principal, next to the kid who will shove his face to the ground one more time after the grown-ups are finished talking.

He wonders if someone will come searching for him. Or if they will notice the empty desk at the front of the classroom, next to the window.

A person goes in and Dipper waits until he hears them flush the toilet to finally slide off the stall.

Feeling more at ease, he turns on the sink to clean the cuts he got thanks to rocks and branches on the grass.

 _Are you okay?_ appears on his palm.

He dries his hands on his pants and pulls out the marker from his pocket. He bits his lip, sitting this time at the corner of the restroom with his legs crossed.

 _Yes._ Dipper’s good at lying when he wants to be, even more if the other person can't see his face. He has never been proud of that, but for some reason lying to Wirt makes him feel worse than usual.

 _So why are we covered in bruises?_ His tone is accusatory and then, he considers the idea of speaking the truth. He craves for that feeling of relief when all is out. It's not like Wirt can accuse him with someone, and he has the right to know, after all, his body gets marked too.

_Big kids are mean to me._

_Why?_

_I don’t know_ , and below that he writes, _You feel the hits?_ It's a thought that has never crossed his mind before. He can't remember if he has felt something those times where Wirt has gotten hurt. And if that's the case, then Dipper would have another reason to fight back, so Wirt doesn't have to suffer from the same as him. There are couples who can do that, feel what the other. He saw one at the hospital one time as he waited for his mom in the waiting room. The man shouted words he didn't understand but recognized them as things people often say when they are angry.

Either way, Wirt doesn't deserve to be in pain every time he gets in a fight. What kind of friend would he be if he lets him get hurt?

 _No, the bruises don't hurt either_ , and he quickly adds, _Sorry._

He erases the first sentences with the wipe to keep writing on his hand, not wanting to touch his right arm. They pulled him down with that one.

 _It’s okay. I’m used to it._ He really is. It has become such a normal routine, much to his dismay.

There are nights when it hits him: having no friends, being a weirdo, an easy target, but with a single glance at her sister, the googly eyes of Mr. Upside Downington glued on her chin and the conversations on his skin, everything becomes sort-of-okay.

_Wanna talk about it?_

_Nop._ Because he really doesn't. Again, the only thing he wants is to forget this day, go home and play videogames, or run in the backyard, maybe read some to Mabel if she’s still in bed with the flu.

Then, the message, _I wish people weren’t mean to you. But I'm your friend, and I'm glad we met_ , manages to take a tiny smile from him.

At least he's not alone anymore.

* * *

Wirt stops eating his yogurt at Greg’s unstoppable giggles.

That kid is making a mess, his chocolate pudding spreading all over the table and his hands completely covered. He’s still learning to do things for himself, and his mom insists on letting him learn at his own pace even if it’s hard to deal with all the dirtiness. Wirt can’t wait for the day he is more independent. Maybe he’ll finally stop follow him or imitate everything he does.

Greg giggles louder. Wirt thinks at first he’s only being his usual foolish self, but when he keeps gazing at his direction, the tiny devilish baby chuckles; if he avert his eyes, Greg goes strangely quiet.

He’s definitely laughing at him.  

“What's so funny?” he demands in a whisper, trying not to sound rude, his mom being not that far away in the kitchen, cooking a carrot cake.

But it doesn't work, her mom frowning at him. “Don’t scowl at your brother,” she reprimands and all he can do is pout.

“I’m not scowling,” he argues and rubs his brow to smooth any crease, just in case. “It’s his fault, he doesn’t stop - ” He groans as her mom smirks at him and doesn't even try to cover it. “Mom, why you too?”

“There's a _small_ stain on your face.”

“What?” Her mom hands him her pocket mirror, the grin never fading. Wirt’s eyes go wide as he runs the pad of his fingers around the corner of his mouth. “Oh not again.”

Since it’s Sunday in the morning, he's wearing his pajamas so he has to fumble for a pen. His mind is also pretty foggy, he can't remember the time difference between their places, and there's a yawn that erases any attempt of seeming frustrated.

 _Why there's ink in my mouth_? he writes on his forearm, moving to the couch so he can ignore any other mockery coming from his mom or half-brother.

 _Whoops, sorry I'm reading a book,_ is the message he receives, equally written in pen, messier than usual. _And it's not like you tasted it. That's worse._

_It doesn't mean I like having blue lips._

_Blue is a cool color._

_Not the point._

He checks the mirror for a second time. The ink trickles down his chin and Wirt can tell Dipper has thrown water straight to his face instead of using the wipes, or a wet towel.

 _C’mon Wirt._ He has never heard his voice, but Wirt can picture the sound of the whine. _I chew pens. You know that._

_I didn’t know you eat them. Your parents should confiscate them. You're going to get sick._

The stains disappear entirely and he raises his head, her mom giving him a thumbs-up, smiling fondly. It is a thing she does as she watches Dipper and Wirt talk and he doesn't get why it's a big deal, but he does not comment it.

_There. All clean. You can stop whining._

Wirt wasn't that mad to begin with, but he enjoys teasing him. _You’re making a habit of putting something on my face. At least this time there weren’t flowers on my cheeks and a rainbow on my forehead._

 _Hey that one was Mabel’s fault,_ Dipper argues. _It was our birthday party._

There's a thud as his mom lowers Greg from his high chair. After several falls he stands up with unsteady legs and runs to the couch, trying to climb it with effort to finally sit right next to Wirt, blowing a raspberry.

 _Greg made fun of me._ Wirt shoves his brother with an arm and turns on the TV so he stops bothering him. _Hope you're happy._

_He's a baby. They laugh at everything._

As Wirt writes his answer, Greg decides to settle on his lap, making him draw a wonky line instead.

“Mom!”

“He just wants to play, sweetie.”

“I'm busy.”

 _Tell you what,_ Dipper writes, _You can do any mark anywhere you want to and we are even._

Wirt knits his brows, responding, _I'm not gonna do that,_ and he’s quick to add, _You know I was kidding right? It's fine._

The next day Wirt trips thanks to his untied shoelaces and falls down from the stairs. Nothing breaks, but he ends up with a giant bump on his forehead, and no matter how many times Wirt tries to convince Dipper it was a complete accident, he doesn't waste the opportunity to tell him he got his revenge.

_I do think it was a little extreme though. You could’ve just drawn something stupid._

_Dipper shut up._

* * *

It’s their first summer away from home, trapped in this small little town full of paranormal beings taken out of a weird combination of mythology and a science fiction book, that can, at times, be slightly creepy in the level of PG-13 movies.

Everything about Gravity Falls is terrifying and exciting as it sounds and while Dipper is inclined to uncover every enigma that hides in the woods, in the residents, Mabel is persistent on finding her soulmate. And there’s no way Dipper is going to convince her otherwise.

If she could be more subtle about it, it would be fine. She’s not the first one to dedicate her time to find the person they are, supposedly, destined to be with, and she won’t be the last one he’ll see. Actually, as they grow up, it’s more likely he will encounter multiple people obsessed with the subject.

Dipper tries to change her mind anyway, after her first almost-boyfriend kidnapped her and turned into a huge mass of gnomes blended in one.

“I don't think you should rush it, Mabel,” he says from the other side of the attic. “We are _twelve_.”

“Some people find their soulmate earlier,” she protests, jumping on the bed with excitement as if they hadn’t been almost killed by an army of little guys with pointy hats. “And it's easy for you to say! You found yours when you were six.”

“Well...yeah but we are not -” he trails off, his entire face burning. Acknowledging Wirt as his soulmate is...weird. They don't even use that word to define their relationship, and he doesn’t want to get to the day when conservative people will start to force them to fall in love. “Remember what mom always says? You don't need a soulmate to make your life whole, you're not only a half if you don't find them.”

“But it’s not fair,” Mabel whines, falling on the bed dramatically, head and hair hanging from the edge, watching her twin upside down. “Some people find theirs and don't even appreciate them. How can anyone dislike their soulmate enough to do that? They are their _soulmate._ They wouldn’t be paired with someone they would hate.”

Pursing his lip, Dipper flips the pages of the journal, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. It’s complicated. That's why Dipper tries not to think about the subject. “Maybe they don't want to try enough to make it work.”

Mabel pouts, sighing deeply. “See my point? If I find mine, I will treat them as they deserve.”

“I know you will.”

She stays quiet, and after a moment she asks something that leaves him stunned. “How did it feel? When you found him.”

He fidgets, not daring to look at her without getting flustered. Times like this, the realization hits him. He found his soulmate. Some people never met his, and he did. But somehow is such a normal aspect of his life that he doesn’t put too much thought of what it meant.

“I-I'm not sure. I was pretty young, Mabel, I didn't completely understand what was going on. I was just happy.” To have found a friend goes unsaid.

“Do you think you would have felt different if you had found him later?”

Dipper finally lowers the book, blinking as he realizes that the conversation jumped completely from Mabel’s problem to him. She has never been this curious about his relation with Wirt before. “I don't think so. Maybe shocked? Or I would’ve been more awkward.”

Mabel snorts, shooting him a smirk. “Now, that would've been fun to see.”

He throws her one of his pillows, hitting her straight in the face and making her laugh.

After she recovers her breath, ending with a dreamy sigh, she stands up from her previous position to lean against the headboard of her bed and gaze at the ceiling. “Just wait, Dippin Dots. I'm going to find the love of my life, the holder of the other half of my mark and I’ll have the most cliché summer romance ever.”

Dipper lets her be. Pines are stubborn, she's not going to back down. For now, at least. And Dipper thinks this is something she has to figure out herself.

And hey, who knows, maybe she will get lucky. After all, they have a whole summer ahead of them.

* * *

It’s late at night, his eyes flickering closed when he sees _I’m sorry_ on his palm. Wirt rubs his eyes and sits upright in bed slowly. It takes him awhile to clear his eyesight and put his mind straight, and when he does, he frowns.

He fumbles on his night table, seeking the marker. His hand stumbles with the clock, and it crashes loudly to the floor, making him wince. He decides to turn on the lamp first and hopes he hasn’t woken anyone.

_Why are you apologizing?_

_I met a girl. Here in Gravity Falls. I think I like her._

That leaves him feeling...normal. He's surprised just because of the statement itself but mostly because he hasn't liked anyone yet. He has seen a cute girl in class, but it doesn't count as liking.

 _Well_. That’s his answer, not knowing what else to say or if there's anything hidden he is not catching.

 _I’m sorry_ , Dipper repeats.

 _Why sorry?_  he asks again,

 _I've been thinking about us._ Wirt doesn’t get mad as he dodges the question, he is not sure where he is going with this but Wirt waits for him to finish.   _About what we are. Soulmates and all. Remember I told you that Mabel’s mission was finding hers? I guess it makes me feel guilty. Having you but liking someone else._

Wirt stomachs drops.

It’s probably the first time ever one of them have referred as what they are, soulmates. They have heard the word since forever. School, on the news, on family reunions. But they have been ignoring the fact since they found each other.

They are reaching to an age where they won’t be able to ignore it.

Suddenly, his mother’s words echo in his head, telling him that it’s not only doing what fate tells you, it’s about choices and hard work.

 _Dipper we are friends_.

 _I know. And you’re awesome and all but I don’t have romantic-ish feelings for you, man._ Wirt laughs.

Wirt rests his head again on his pillow, lying on his side. _Neither do I silly._ He bites his lip as he tries to address the issue. _Right now. We don’t know about the future._ Wirt doesn’t want to dismiss any of the possibilities, and that’s what he wants Dipper to understand. They still have time to figure out what they want to be. If they’re friends now it doesn’t mean something can’t change later. But what matters is that Wirt is okay with what they have at the moment.

_Mm._

_I’m not mad, Dipper. Or upset. They can’t make us fall in love. It doesn’t work like that._

Sometimes he wonders how deep a soulbond can go. Whatever appears on one’s skin is going to appear in the others - the exception being birthmarks, moles, or freckles; natural traits you’re born with. He has heard about some people who have a psychic bond, hearing each other’s thoughts, feeling each other’s feelings. Some don’t see colors until they’ve bonded with their soulmate, some just have matching marks. So what if your bond is not limited? What if, as you get closer to your match, the bond changes or tightens?

Sometimes Wirt swears he can feel it - tightening. Like right now, he’s not sure _how_ but he can tell Dipper is grinning. As each year passes, it is becoming easier to picture the tone of voice on his head. And some scrapes - they don't hurt but they sting. A little. Like a needle barely touching his skin.

_You sound really old when you talk like that._

_Like what? And I am older than you anyway._

_By weeks!_ Dipper retorts and draws a check mark letting him know he's going to erase. Wirt draws one beside too and stretches his arm to grab the wipe. Dipper continues on his right arm, _And like, you sound wiser._

 _Thanks I guess_ , he writes on the left arm. They tend to do that when they know the conversation is going to last. _So about us,_ he returns to the topic to make his point straight.

_Yes?_

_I like being your friend._

_Me too. Look, I freaked out. I had those spurts of paranoia that you get when you think too much._

_Yeah._ Wirt can relate. The mind is tricky, and while Dipper is confident and brave, Wirt is aware of his insecurities as well. They share the same anxiety trait. Different kinds, different levels, but similar in many ways. _But we are good now? You're good?_

_Yes._

_Good._ It's really late but he doesn't want to go to sleep, not yet. He’s not tired anymore. _So tell me about the bruise on my elbow that appeared this afternoon._

* * *

Dipper manages to make it to his thirteenth birthday alive, and of everything that has happened in these few months, that's what feels more surreal. The stillness of the town, their refusal to accept it happened, how any remains were washed away, none of that helps. The citizens returned to their normal lives so fast he fears he dreamt it all.

But there’s his grunkle, a backlash of his stubbornness, of his inability to communicate without hurting; not of Mabel’s fears as he has told her over and over and won't stop until she believes it. She has reciprocated the action, has hugged him so tightly until his muscles are numb.

The majority of Stan’s memories are back - some that haven't returned, small ones they don't know how significant are, Ford doesn't tell them but the twins deduce he knows what they are.

There’s also the statue, but he has not dared to go and check if it is there, if it’s some kind of magical residue, if it’s dangerous. He doubts it and he’s too tired to care. Everyone is. He just wants to enjoy his family on the time they have left.

But he’s glad that there’s evidence telling him, _it happened. We survived. We beat him_.

And even after everything, Dipper will always treasure that summer as the best one he’s ever had.

There were scary moments of course, like that time he was possessed, also known as the first time Wirt was _truly_ annoyed with him. Although he didn’t say so, Dipper knew even without seeing his face - Wirt has always been transparent. Dipper couldn’t decipher the exact reason after he returned to his body and Wirt wrote _I know you're having fun. I know you have so much more courage than me._ Dipper wanted to disagree at that. Wirt hasn’t had the chance to prove himself, it doesn’t mean he’s not brave. _But you have an enormous lack of self-preservation._ That was the Wirt way to say he was an idiot, but also to express his worry. He was annoyed that Dipper didn't exactly think twice before jumping into danger when it was required.

It’s comforting. To know that someone in some other place in the world deeply cares about his safety, someone he hasn't even met in real life.

And he's grateful for having someone like Wirt. So, so grateful. He won’t forget how the blue marker became a lifeline on those three days of hell along with the walkie-talkie clutched in his hands. His answers kept him sane and hopeful. _You can do it_ and _I’m here_ stayed on his wrist until the sky changed from orange to blue and the air from thick to clean.

Now he's on the bus to California, leaving his new home to get back to his old one. Mabel's head is resting on his shoulder, her eyes drifted close a long time ago.

He hasn't been able to talk to Wirt after everything. Nothing more than assurances that everyone is okay. But there's something left to say.

_Hey Wirt, Thanks._

Wirt is always reading outside at this hour so he expects a quick reply, and he gets one, _For what?_

 _For not letting me give up when I was alone, for caring when you didn't need to care, for being my friend, for not ignoring that first message, for accepting me, for laughing with me, for tolerate me,_ that's all he wants to say and more that wouldn't fit in all of his limbs, so he writes _For being you_.

He hopes that sums it all.

* * *

Wirt has always liked poetry. As a kindergarten student who didn't understand the meaning of the entire text but loved the melody of the verses as he heard his mother reciting, on that time between his father and Greg’s, when there were just the two. Or as a recently fourteen-year-old boy who spends his day in quiet rooms with the company of Frost and Plath.

It’s just a fact about him. It’s not something he hides, but it’s not something he tells either.

His classmates are not as thrilled with this world as him, Wirt is aware that none of them would describe it as cool. Playing an instrument? Sure. Writing songs? Why not? But poetry? It means school. It’s counting the metric, it’s diving into syllables and answering a questionnaire about the author’s intention on said line.  

Wirt is not a cool guy, so he doesn’t expect them to be surprised if they find out, but he doesn’t want to be more of an outcast, doesn’t want to be the center of attention. He doesn’t mind being in the background, he avoids getting hurt.

But lately, there’s been noise on his head, getting louder with each day. There are thoughts about general stuff, that’s not a big deal, his mind always tends to drift away at random moments. The problem, he realizes while fumbling for his textbook, is that he starts mumbling those thoughts shaped into _poetry_. And of course, it’s not good, but he’s doing it without meaning it too as if he was humming a catchy song in front of _people_.

Wirt lets go of the book as if it had burned him, but catches it before it hits the floor, looking around the class to see that no one is paying him any notice.

He sighs and covers his head with his hands, tugging some strands of hair.

_I wish I could be far, far away, in a place where dreams become reality, and reality is all about dreaming, where the worries wash away - Stop._

Someone taps his shoulder and he jumps. Did he say that aloud too?

“Sorry.” It’s Sara, one of the friendliest people in the school, the kind of person who’s always making sure no one’s feeling left out. Today she’s wearing one of her NASA t-shirts, this one has a rainbow and stars on the background behind the spaceship. Wirt wonders if his dad works there. He’s never dared to ask. She’s also in almost all of his classes and Wirt pretends he doesn’t notice that she always tries to sit around him and make small talk. “Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Um. No. I’m fine.” Wirt can’t tell if it comes out as rude, that’s never his intention - maybe with Greg sometimes - but his mom has told him his words can sound either pretty sharp or make him be a stuttering mess. “Thanks - for asking.”

Sara offers him a small smile, and there’s nothing he can do but return it. He hopes it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels.

The rest of the class turns into a blur between trying to pay attention to his reading and struggling to keep his new silly habit in line. He doesn't even want it inside his head, but it's better than muttering under his breath and make everyone think he's talking to himself - which, technically, he is, but he's not even going there. It gets to the point where he has to bite his tongue and Wirt isn’t sure anymore if it’s incredibly ridiculous or incredibly sad.

His eyes flickered from the text to the window and the way the sun illuminates the outside world and the sunrays touch the grass makes him hate everything. He - he wants to write poetry, even if it’s not the best piece ever created. It’s just what others might think what it’s mortifying. So he doesn't say it aloud. He lifts the sleeve of his sweater, his arm hidden beneath the table, and writes it.

His mind finally goes quiet and he sighs in relief, continuing to work on his paper.

Later, he’s at home doing homework with Greg’s voice in the background telling him about some game they invented in class. Wirt nods his head at random times to make him believe he's paying attention. He normally does, because then Greg asks a question and if Wirt doesn't answer right he tends to repeat the story, but his brain is already hurting because of math.

Greg interrupts himself to make an _oh_ sound and pokes Wirt’s arm. “What's this? Is it -”

“Don't.”

He changed to a short sleeve shirt so it is easier for him to check if Dipper calls him. When both are in school they always make sure to use the palm of the hand to avoid people’s inquiries. When they're at home, there are times where even their legs get covered.

Though, he completely forgot about the words he wrote in class and his blood gets cold when he sees that Dipper has responded a simple, _Hey, that’s nice. Is it yours?_

“Oh no,” Wirt says.

Greg leans to look better but Wirt snatches his arm away, covering it with his other hand. “It's that Dipper? Can I talk to him?”

Wirt shakes his head and runs to his bedroom. His stomach is twisting unpleasantly, and his breath becomes heavy.

Dipper has been in his life long enough to know about the night readings. But he has not talked about this, he didn't want anyone to know. But it's out. He can't avoid Dipper and he doesn't want to.

Wirt exhales, counts to ten and thinks how to approach this. He is allowed to be vulnerable with Dipper, he has never lied. There's no reason to start now.

He doesn't give a straight answer right away, but writes a starter, _Would you laugh if I say yes?_

_Why would I? It’s good._

_It's really not._

_Yes it is._

He doesn't want to fight, he wants him to understand the problem without acknowledging it. To bring out his insecurities without saying them. Maybe it's too much, to ask him to read between lines, but they've always been good at that. _It just. It keeps happening. I don't how to stop._

_Don't stop. Maybe is your thing._

_Don't you think is weird?_

_Are you seriously asking me that?_

Fair point. But it's still different.  It's more likely to find people engrossed in ghosts and aliens. There's a reason why there's so much demand for that kind of movies after all.

_You're are the good kind of weird. The interesting one._

_Man you don't give yourself enough credit._

_Neither do you._  

Maybe that’s why destiny paired them up, so when one’s down, the other one would already understand what is like to feel scared and pick them up.

_Wirt that's who you are and I don't mind. If you accept my weirdness how could I not accept yours?  You listen to all of my crazy stuff without complaint. Of course I'm going to be okay with whatever you do.  Poetry or not, you're my best friend._

Leaning against the door, Wirt lets escape a breath.

_Okay._

* * *

A Halloween night when Dipper is fifteen, he fears he took Wirt for granted. Most people tend to do it without realizing it. You are so used to someone’s presence that the mere thought of them being gone doesn’t even cross your mind.

It hits him out of nowhere, right after Dipper and Mabel returned from a party. There’s a sensation of wrong crushing his chest, sort of like a tug but not quite. It's been a while since he had a panic attack, and even back then, they weren’t like _this_.

His hand searches for his pocket, writing the message on his hand since Wirt told him he was going to his school’s football game, and he doesn’t take off his sweater when he’s out.

He waits, but not for long, scrawling his name over and over, his skin turning red because of the tip’s pressure.

Something bad is happening, it’s as if his symptoms were whispering _help_ and _Wirt_. He has heard on the news, rumors, that people can tell when their soulmate is in danger and Dipper wonders if this is how losing them feels like, desperation aching all over, painful and horrible.

His throat is burning. He's ready to get up and flee to the bathroom but manages to hold down the dinner right where it belongs. He decides to go to Mabel's room instead, hand on wall for support, if not, he’ll fall, and he's not sure he would be able to stand up.

He turns the knob but stays still at the frame of the door.

Mabel spots him from her mirror and turns off the hair dryer when she takes a look at his face.

“Are you crying? What's wrong?”

“I’m not -” Dipper brings his hand to his cheek and notices the tears running down his cheeks. “I- I don’t know what’s wrong. Wirt - he’s not okay. I just -”

His sister throws her arms around him, speechless. Dipper rests his head on her shoulder, gripping the marker tightly.

He’s not feeling anything anymore, and that makes the situation worse.

What if this is it? You feel your soulmate die and then - nothing.

“Dipper,” Mabel says softly, her voice sounds far away. “Dipper, breathe slower.”

He closes his eyes and rubs them. “What if - what if he’s -” he broke off.

A hand rubs circles on his back, easing the pressure by withdrawing of the hug, just holding an arm around him, keeping him close.  

“Hey, bro-bro, your hand.”

Dipper looks down and almost sobs when there's another sentence, in another handwriting that's has become too familiar to him.

_Sorry. The craziest night just happened. You okay?_

“See? He's alright.” Mabel pats his back and gives him one last squeeze.

Dipper’s too numb to speak without breaking down. He’s torn between asking a big number of questions and scolding him for making him fret.

_I’m fine. Are you? Tell me what happened._

After his anecdote, Dipper feels a combination of astonishment, fear, and sort of pride.

_I told you you’re brave._

_Weeeell_

_You are. You were really brave there. And…_

_Yes?_

_I’m so glad you’re fine._

* * *

The nightmares are recurrent since their time on the Unknown.

He's there for Greg as same as Greg is there for him. Holding is all they can do to keep the bad dreams away. It works with Greg, the kid falling asleep as soon as he’s on Wirt’s bed. Sometimes it takes Wirt a little longer. There are nights where he doesn't sleep at all and other nights where he talks to Dipper until his vision blurs and his eyes flutter.

He told him about the good parts of the journey, Beatrice, Endicott, the frogs, learning to be a better brother; and the bad parts, the Beast, almost losing Greg, freezing. There's no necessity to tell him what haunts him in his sleep.

_It’s good that you and Greg are getting along._

_Yeah. It’s hard sometimes and he doesn't realize how awful I was to him. But I'm going to make up for everything._

_I know._ He doesn't say ‘no, you weren't' awful’ and Wirt is glad. Wirt didn't mention his little brother often, but every time he did, it was to say Greg was annoying him or that he never shut up. He was a terrible brother and Dipper doesn’t need to say so, but it’s obvious he agrees, even when he knows the real reason behind his bitterness.

Greg shifts closer and Wirt holds him a little tighter, reading Dipper’s message about his day, what he ate, what he read, some silly thing Mabel did. He never asks if he's feeling better, or if he's tired, he waits until Wirt draws a star to let him know he's calmed down and he's going to close his eyes. Yet Dipper keeps going for a little while, so Wirt can see the letters appear on his skin until his eyes flutter slowly shut and sleep comes as a bliss. Dipper says it has the same effect as counting sheep, Wirt would say it’s better. It leaves him feeling safe.

* * *

Dipper decides to go to the treehouse after a long day of school and all his homework is done. He puts out his legs between the balusters to leave them hanging and swings them back and forth. Their parent built it to keep them from climbing the tree. It didn’t work out anyway. They never use the stair, and they still like to rest on the thickest branches.  

It’s a good place for thinking.

Right now, he really needs to think.

 _A girl in my school found her soulmate today_ , he writes with a red pen. He doesn’t like to write with pens because it’s harder to wash off but Mabel took all of the markers she could find that morning for her art project _._ He could wait until she returns from her friend’s home but he’s too impatient. _Just by touching him. It was weird. Idk how you could know just by touching, but Mabel told me it was prob bc her other senses are stronger._

_Other senses?_

_Yeah she’s blind,_ Dipper clarifies. Ever since that revelation on the cafeteria, Dipper feels different, like he realized something that was always there, as if there was a moment when all clicked. _And I’ve never thought it but fate knows what is doing. I think I finally get it._

_What are you talking about?_

_If she had a mark on her skin, she wouldn't be able to see it. It makes sense she can identify her soulmate by touch. And us, we live far away, it was easier to find each other this way. Destiny does give you the first step, the trigger. It's up to us to make it work_.

He has known that for a very long time. You can't force someone to love you - even if the one you love is your soulmate. You don't have to be with them if you don't want. But since he watched that girl embracing her soulmate, Dipper trust fate. The way you can identify your soulmate depends on each situation of each pairing. How long would it have taken to find Wirt if he had name or mark on his skin?

 _“Do you think you would have felt different if you had found him later?”_ Mabel asked when they were twelve and naive. Dipper's answer back then was no, but now, if he thinks about it, he knows that's not true. He needs to trust someone entirely before opening up. If Dipper had found Wirt later - after knowing bits of the real world - he would've been wary. And he knows it would've been the same way for Wirt.

 _I think you’re right,_ it's on his forearm.

Dipper tries to picture Wirt lying on his bed with the little information he has about his physical appearance, swallowing Dipper’s reasoning with deep concentration, probably already shaping those words into something more beautiful.

He recalls the girl in front of him, shivering when she stumbled with a random guy, both freezing as they came to the conclusion and finally hugging each other like old friends meeting for the first time in years.

He also thinks about how Wirt and he would react when they meet in person. He can't help but smile and hopes they can be that pair soon.

Mabel gets home at the same moment Wirt tells him he has to leave to study with Sara, Dipper ignores the way his heart clenches for a bit.

That’s a thought for another day.

* * *

_I know you hate technology_ , appears on his skin one afternoon as Wirt finishes washing the dishes.

Sighing, he reaches for the towel to dry his hands and grabs the first marker he sees on the plastic glass of the living room. He knows where this conversation is going, and he doesn’t want to argue with Dipper. They’ve talked about it enough times for him to know his answer.

_Not again._

_You can't srsly be totally against it_ , Dipper continues _. I bet you have used a phone._

_Very funny._

_So then why can we meet as in face-to-face?_

Wirt walks to the stairs and goes to his room, flopping back on the mattress. _I thought you liked mysteries._

 _I like solving mysteries_ , and then, _Wiiiirt, please._

_I-_

Dipper interrupts him, drawing a half circle beside the letter, turning the _I_ to a _P_ , followed by the words _-lease, please, please._

Wirt rubs his arm, touching the ink gently as if somehow it could help to appease his jittery heart.

It should be easier, really. Dipper knows him probably better than anyone he has ever talked to. He knows what is underneath each layer, has always been on the other side of the walls he put a long time ago. So it shouldn't be this hard. To see someone he met when he was a kid from a screen, to talk to him like normal friends. But they are not normal, and Wirt wonders if that’s the reason for his reluctance. Maybe he’s too used to see their relationship as something magical, inscrutable, that he can’t see it becoming something so palpable.

But it can’t be true. He _wants_ to see Dipper, have the chance to know him in a different way. He wants to be able to figure him out as well as he can do with just inked words; learn to interpret his movements and actions; have a solid voice in his head as he reads their messages.

Maybe it’s the image of Dipper mocking the way he looks, sounds or acts, telling him he’s not good enough, regretting his decision of asking to see him in the first place. But it’s totally insane and unfair. Wirt’s not giving him enough credit. There hasn't been a time where Dipper Pines has been superficial. The word doesn't fit him, doesn’t belong to him as a description.  

Maybe is the knowledge of seeing someone who knows every part of you. It's different when someone you don’t have to face knows all your secrets, from a person that knows everything and is right next to you. He's not sure he's ready to feel that vulnerable in front of someone. It's like being face to face with your own fears.

He is learning to open up with people, but he has always been open and sincere to Dipper. What if he only feels comfortable with him on indirect interaction, because Wirt knows he can’t hear him stuttering, or see him avoiding eye contact?

Maybe he's simply afraid of the changes the decision implies. He's always been afraid of changes after all.

_I don't know. This is nice. Something made just for us._

_We’re not going to stop this. I wanna hear you and see you. It’s a little stupid to have known you all my life but we haven’t seen each other at least one time._ He stops for a second, and Wirt swears he can tell Dipper is frowning. _I mean… We are going to meet each other one day._

 _Of course._ That was settled a long time ago. There was no doubt that no matter when, they are going to be in the same place, together.

_Then? I wanna be able to recognize you. What if a kidnapper pretends to be you?_

Wirt tugs at his hair.

If they do this, it would not be one sided. Just as Dipper has pieces of Wirt, Wirt also has pieces of him. He's not the only one who has been giving and giving. If they do this, Wirt would not be the only one feeling exposed.

_Okay._

_Seriously??_

_Please don't make me reconsider my answer._ Because sometimes the best decisions are taken without over analysis _. Just take it._

Dipper’s next response is a smiley face which purpose is to make him laugh, and it works.

Wirt has always been afraid of changes, but Dipper always seems to be the exception.

* * *

He’d be lying if he said he isn’t nervous as he moves the cursor to the call sign - it’s a last-minute panic, as Mabel likes to call it. He’s trying not to pay much attention to it, though, mostly thrilled to see the person who he has known for so long.

He had to wait an hour until Wirt made an account because the only thing he had was an e-mail. Wirt suggested to use the phone first, but no, Dipper is ready for this, after all the time it took to convince him, there’s no way they are going to back down.

Dipper takes a deep breath and clicks the button. Then, the image shows up.

Wirt mentioned he has brown hair and brown eyes, nothing extraordinary and Dipper didn't have any expectations, he knew he wouldn't care about aspects in the end. Yet, the prominent cheekbones, the thin pink lips, swept bangs of hair falling on forehead, not long enough to cover his eyes, all feels like a direct punch to the chest.

“Uh.” How long has he been staring? Wirt hasn't said anything yet. Was he staring back? “Hi,” he offers weakly.

“H-Hi.”

They stay like that for a little while and then - they laugh. Laugh at their own stupidity, laugh at their nervousness because this is _so_ like them, to get awkward at something so simple. They’re best friends. It’s just Wirt and him. The guy who knows every single part of him, good and bad, and it’s fine with both.

“Okay. I don’t really know what to say,” Wirt says sheepishly, yet smiles broadly. His nose scrunches and Dipper’s heart races.

“It’s just me, man.” Dipper gives him a nonchalant shrug, even if he’s jittery for a whole different reason. “Put your arm on the camera.”

“Why?” He tilts his head but complies nevertheless. “Are you more comfortable talking to my hand?”

“So that’s how your sarcasm sounds like.” Dipper grins and raises his arm too, uncapping the marker with his mouth. “Draw something.”

Wirt nods.

They watch the ink appear on the other’s skin attentively and completely mesmerized, not really drawing something in particular, more like scribbling spirals and lines. None of them stop till the forearm is covered.

They put their arms down, Dipper’s rests on his desk, and he trails the lines as if they were some kind of map. “Weird.” The mystery is solved, and it’s not like Dipper has doubted Wirt’s existence, but this, this feels _more_. They climbed a step.

“Yeah.”

Dipper averts his gaze from his arm to look at Wirt. He hasn't stopped smiling since the call began. Dipper is pleased of being the cause of that fond, genuine, gesture.

Then, Dipper decides to show him around his home.

He starts with his room, showing some things he has mentioned over the years, goes to the hallway and tells him what door leads to what. At some point, Mabel joins the call after introducing herself, warming up to Wirt in no time, and both twins finish the tour in their living room.

Wirt’s voice sounds delighted the whole time. It’s soft and warm. He wants to hear it nonstop.

* * *

There's a thin line between friendly, platonic, teasing and _flirting._

Wirt’s a complete failure at flirting, but he can recognize it when he sees it, or at least, he thinks he does.

Lately, Dipper’s compliments have left him flustered - perhaps it’s only the playful tone - and there are times where he makes a comeback too, though, it always comes out way more polite than intended.

And maybe he’s lying to himself when he says, that no, it’s impossible for Dipper to have any romantic feelings towards him. Not because Wirt would necessarily mind if he does, because he - well.

It’s complicated.  

If he compares what he felt for Sara a year ago, before deciding that they were more comfortable as friends, it’s not the same, and yet it is.

There are the same butterflies fluttering on his stomach at hearing laughter, it’s the same staring he does when he thinks he’s not being seen, the same desire to be close. But with Sara there was a sort of uneasiness at the first stage of their friendship, he was cautious and afraid to tell too much information about himself. It took him months to be truly relaxed around her group and sometimes he still can’t shake the thoughts about being out of place.

He has trusted Dipper before they started to mistrust the people around them. Their bond is not fragile, it’s strong and keeps flourishing. If he’s mistaken, if he’s reading too much into it, he can’t ruin a lifetime of friendship. Or that’s what he hopes.

His phone buzzes on the bed, snapping him from his thoughts. Mabel sent him a photo with the caption, _the dork stayed awake all night watching X-files_

Dipper’s gripping a pillow like a stuffed animal, lying on the couch, one leg sprawled off. His curly hair is a total mess, standing up in different directions and falling on his eyes. Wirt has the sudden urge to brush it off.

Despite himself, he blushes and replies, _At least he slept at one point._

Later that night, Wirt admires the stars through the window.

What a funny thing is when the love you feel for your soulmate starts to change into something deeper and complex, distinct - not better or worse - and yet be unsure if it's mutual.

As he watches the endless sky, he grabs his notebook and writes.

_My mind is an ocean of thoughts that consume every waking moment._  
_If only I could swim through the ocean the way that you swim through my thoughts_  
_Maybe then I could finally understand the world around me_  
_And how you and I fit in it*_

* * *

“How about communication?”

“If I go with that it would be journalism.”

“And…?”

“And I have no idea. I have no idea about anything.” From the other line, Dipper can hear a sigh, the perfect reflection of his emotional state. “I'm getting stressed and then I’ll be grumpy if I get stressed. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you know yet?”

“I think I'm going for an English major.”

“Right. It's - it's fitting. For you.”

“It would also be fitting for you, you know?”

Dipper grunts, slumping on his bed, his arm hitting his baggage. He has yet to finish packing for summer. “It’s so stupid. I wouldn't mind majoring in math or physics or whatever career where I work investigating. But everyone _insists_ that I should go with that - as if I don’t have any other options.  I'm going to end up choosing something entirely different just to piss them off.”

“You can do whatever you want, Dipper.”

“I don't know what I want anymore.” He knows he wants to hold Wirt’s hand, listen him recite poetry whether it is original or not, see him playing the clarinet and losing himself on the melody, be close to him every day and be there to share his happiness when he gets excited, be there when he needs to be held. “Hope to figure out soon.”

He puts the call on speaker and continues to throw clothes inside the suitcase.

They stay in silence but neither hangs up. Dipper can hear paper crumbling. That normally means Wirt has written something he later regretted, and then regretted getting rid of it, and finally, decides to keep it extremely hidden.

“Greg - Greg wants to know how far the college I’m going is,” Wirt speaks up.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I’m not sure yet.” Wirt clears his throat. “Are we - ” He trails off, but Dipper knows exactly what he was going to say.

While Dipper rarely talks about the chaos that is his future, they have mentioned universities options. How far they would be from each other, and if, by any chance, they could choose the same one. Both have thought that perhaps they’ve been separated for too long, perhaps it was time to climb another step.

“You want to?” Dipper asks. The question means more than just going to college together.

“If you want.” The answer also means more than that.

“I -” Again with that word. _Want._ Dipper wants too many things. He’s not blind and whatever situation happening between the two has been driving him crazy. Jumping haltingly the line, but one of them regretting it before their feet hit the ground, falling to the exact place they started. He wants them to cross that line, but he’s willing to wait for Wirt until he’s certain. Patience is not a virtue he possesses, but for Wirt, he tries. “We have a year. To figure everything out.”

“Yeah. We will,” he says, thoughtful.

The zipper of his suitcase gets stuck when he tries to pull it up and before he grunts in frustration, there’s Wirt’s voice again, mumbling under his breath. Dipper freezes, recognizing that tone. Wirt must not be aware of how close the phone is, since he’s talking as if he was alone.

_We dance round in a ring and suppose,_

_But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.*_

Dipper wants to tell the Secret to stand up and yell.

* * *

“It's not that easy, Greg,” Wirt groans, pacing in the room.

“Yes, it is. You, big people, like to complicate everything.”

Wirt lets out a noncommittal noise, burying his face on the pillow. He can't really deny it, but he's not sure six-year-old Wirt would admit his feelings either. He was shyer back then.

Suddenly, he yelps as Greg throws himself on top of him. Jason Funderburker hops to his hair so he's careful as he lifts his head, unable to turn his neck completely and face his brother, so he settles for glaring at the couch arm.

“Greg.”

“ _Wirt.”_ But he gets off him, picking up the frog from Wirt’s head and settling him on the floor. He crosses his arm against his chest and puckers up his lips, that’s the pose Greg opts when he’s scolding him. “You said he feels the same way.”

“I _suspect._ It's not the same. I could have misinterpreted all. And everything could fall to the cataract, washed away by the rapids, reaching the impending doom.”

“You’ve been _suspecting_ for too long.” Greg prods his nose. “Make him a tape. With clarinet and poetry and all. It worked last time.”

Wirt rubs his temple, closing his eyes. Confessing to his soulmate shouldn’t be this complicated. Why is it so scary to take the first step? Well, second step. Dipper already wrote once his palm _Need to talk to you about something important asap._

He guessed what it is about and freaked out, yet he hopes his guess is right.

“Wirt,” his brother says. “You can do it. Really, you're the total package. You're smart and funny and you're a good listener. You’re actually really good at so many things. Dipper’s nice too. I don’t see how bad it could be.”

Wirt sighs and is about to reply when his computer announces an incoming video call.  

“Oh boy.”

Greg gives him a quick but tight hug. He starts walking backward, never breaking eye contact with him as he leaves the room to play outside and gives him thumbs up. “You can do it. I believe in you, captain!”

“Thanks, Greg,” Wirt says, truly sincere.

When he’s out of the room, Wirt braces himself and answers.

Dipper’s biting his nail, but the frown erases from his face and it's replaced by a smile, eyes lighting up instantly. Wirt sees it as a good sign.

“Um, Dipper?” Wirt scratches the back of his neck and averts his gaze when Dipper turns to him expectantly. “I - I have something important to tell you too.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”

“Oh, no, no. Just - You can go first.”

“Well… How about together?” Dipper suggests.

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t know what to expect when he finally spits the words, “I’m in love with you” but he definitely didn’t think he would hear the same words from Dipper.

They look at each other and blink.

And again simultaneously they stutter out, “Oh” and “What?”

Dipper’s smile is so bright and big that it’s contagious.

* * *

Since he was twelve years old, Dipper has seen the same stars rising and shining every summer, but this time, Dipper thinks that the night is silent as ever, the sky clear and beautiful above them. Like it was set up just for them.

The grass prickles his skin, the smell of dirt and wood prominent. Their legs are tangled up, knee meets the back of knee, toe against toe, their hands brush slightly against one another, and despite having kissed several times already Dipper’s heart is beating so fast he's sure Wirt can hear it.  

Having Wirt so close makes his brain shut, he can only focus on the heat their bodies spread and Wirt, Wirt, Wirt.

“Would you read some of the poems you sent me?” Dipper murmurs, not wanting to disturb the peace of their own personal bubble.

Wirt stiffens. “You want to? Wait, that’s why you asked. Sorry. Sure.” Dipper turns his head and sits up to see Wirt’s cheeks go red.

Dipper’s mouth quirks up, lacing their fingers together. They’ve been dating for a year, known each other for a lifetime, but this makes everything feel like a new experience, a new mystery he’s more than happy to solve.  

He leans down and presses their lips together. The kiss is less awkward and unsure than the first one, but it’s still tentative, wanting to learn and memorize the feeling of the other. It’s not rushed and that’s okay. This summer is all for them, after that, they’ll have college and then, who knows.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dipper says when he pulls away, eyes closed.

Wirt rests his forehead against his. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

They kiss again, slow and sweet.

Dipper runs his fingers through Wirt’s arm, from his upper arm to his wrist, where words have been written and erased, where stories have been told and secrets have been shared. A reminder that they'll always have someone to reach for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *that first poem was written by [sweetcinnamonrollking](http://sweetcinnamonrollking.tumblr.com/) they are great c: thanks for letting me use this, hon.  
> *Second poem is The Secret by Frost.  
> -English is not my native language so if you see some typo or anything, feel free to let me know [here](http://notesinthewoods.tumblr.com/)  
> -I headcanon that Dipper was that kind of kid who used to write every word completely and try to use perfect grammar on texts until he grew older and didn't care anymore. Wirt, on the other hand, always writes correctly because he's Wirt.  
> -Funny story, I sometimes wrote on my own arms and hands just to see if the messages could fit lol  
> All feedback is appreciated c: and thanks for reading!


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